Page 37 of Queen of Misfortune (Shadows of Redemption)

“I just?—”

“What you should be doing is apologizing to the woman you put your grubby hands on.”

“She didn’t say she was with?—”

Another blow lands on his stomach. “Doesn’t matter, asshole. You know what? I’m sick of this shit.” I let my fury loose, blow after blow, each strike making the man howl or whimper. When I'm done, he's a crumpled heap, breathing ragged, eyes glazed with fear and pain.

“I’m not sure that was necessary.”

I glance up at Lucy. She’s watching the man, but her expression is unreadable. But at least she’s not pissed at me.

“Are you all right?” I ask her.

Finally, her gaze turns to me. “Better than him.”

One of my men appears. “Everything all right, Boss?”

“Yes. Maybe you can take care of this piece of trash. I’m going to take Mrs. Conti home.”

“Mrs.?” the man whimpers from the pavement. “She never said?—”

The words are interrupted when my man kicks him. “Shut up.”

I escort Lucy to the car, and we drive right back to the compound in silence. I note that she’s got her stoic ice princess persona on, but there’s something underneath it that doesn’t sit right.

When we reach the house, I guide her inside and through the familiar halls of Niko’s opulent mansion. I take her through to the back of the house where I have my own private apartment. She steps inside without hesitation, and for a moment, relief washes over me that she isn’t fighting me. It makes me wonder if the incident was more upsetting to her than I’d realized. Or maybe she doesn’t know that this is my private room. How would she? I doubt she’s seen much of the house.

"Make yourself comfortable." I guide her to the couch, but she doesn’t sit.

She surveys the room with a guarded expression, taking in the living space that doubles as my sanctuary within the compound. Her gaze lingers on the large bed before drifting to the windows. I wonder if she’s seeking an escape.

I head to the mini bar, pour two fingers of whiskey, and offer it to her. She accepts it with a nod, her fingers brushing mine, sending a jolt through me.

"What happened back there?" I ask.

She sips the whiskey, her throat working as she swallows. "Why do you care?"

Her question stings more than it should. I care. I shouldn't, but I do. It gnaws at me, this concern for a woman who's built walls so thick, I wonder if even she can see over them anymore.

"Because I do," I say, leaning against the bar, arms folded.

"Shouldn't you be off charming some other girl who actually wants your attention?"

I arch a brow. “You sound jealous.”

She scoffs. “To be jealous, I’d have to care about you, and I don’t.”

“Ouch.” I press my hand to my chest, in mock pain. “What’s got your panties in a bunch, Princess?”

She sips her drink and then walks up to me, handing me the glass. “My panties are just fine.”

She starts toward the door, but I can’t let her go. My hand reaches out, taking her by the wrist and tugging her back.

“You haven’t finished.” I push the glass toward her, our fingers grazing again. This time, I'm ready for the electric shock of her touch, but it still rattles me.

She downs the drink and hands it back, but I don’t take it. Instead, I reach for the bottle and pour more. Then I tug her to the couch.

“Donovan, I don’t?—”